Maritime Mysteries (6 page)

An official investigation into the bungled hanging was held. Witnesses testified that the hangmen were drunk. No blame was placed on the local sheriff for selecting the two hangmen from Montreal, but it was recommended that future hangings should be carried out in a federal penitentiary by professionals. This was not the last that would be heard of the botched hanging of Bennie Swim.

Sometime later, guards at the jail reported hearing shuffling footsteps and doors being slammed shut. Other times, and especially late at night, a voice was heard moaning as if in pain. Did the ghost of Bennie Swim return to the Woodstock Jail?

We do know that new guards are told by their superiors how to cope with that restless spirit during the midnight hour: keep busy, read a book, or listen to the radio.

All the guards agreed that whatever the ghost did, he did twice. A coincidence?

The Jailhouse Mystery

B
uilt in 1840, the Charlotte County Jail in St. Andrews, New Brunswick, was operational up until the 1970s, when it was turned into a museum of sorts. What makes this old jail different is that it has a resident spirit—a ghost that is.

In the nineteenth century, the prison population was made up mostly of petty thieves, the homeless, alcoholics, and debtors. There were, however, a few hardened criminals who passed through its steel doors, including a few unfortunates, such as Thomas Dowd and Eliza Ann Ward of New River, New Brunswick.

It was in the fall of 1878 when Dowd and Mrs. Ward were transferred from New River to St. Andrews, where their murder trial would be heard. The good folk of St. Andrews went about their business until the trial started. Once it got underway, it was standing room only.

Dowd was convicted of the axe murder of Eliza Ann Ward's husband, Thomas Ward. Mrs. Ward was convicted as an accomplice, but as she was pregnant at the time, was spared the gallows and was sentenced to seven years in prison instead. Some believed the child she carried was Tommy Dowd's. Dowd maintained his innocence throughout the trial, but in a later confession wrote, “I killed Ward in the valley where he was found. I killed him with McCarthy's narrow axe. Ward was on his way home with an axe and pitchfork. When we met we had some words. He made at me with the fork. I clinched the axe and killed him. I then took him by the legs and dragged him to where his body was found. Mrs. Ward never saw him after he left the house; till she saw him dead in the woods, nor anyone else but myself.” This confession, some say, was prompted by Mrs. Ward's condition. Apparently, he wasn't aware at the time the court had spared her life.

While awaiting the hangman's noose, Dowd returned to his faith and spent most of his waking hours praying.

On the morning of January 14, 1879, with a priest and guards on either side, Dowd was taken from his cell and lead to the awaiting gallows. Mrs. Ward was allowed to watch the hanging from a jail window. Witnesses reported that she was weeping when taken back to her cell.

According to records, Mrs. Eliza Ann Ward died shortly after serving her sentence. Found in her personal belongings was a letter. In it she confessed to the murder of her husband!

In time, St. Andrews returned to normal. However, things at the jail were anything but. Guards reported strange sounds during the night and a mysterious beam of light would appear on the wall along which Dowd had been held. Guards reported that it was as if an invisible hand was trying to write a message. Another guard said it was Dowd's ghostly hand that scrawled the words, “I'm innocent!” that appeared there.

The Ghost of Kelly's Mountain

I
n the cool morning air a lone loon is heard as it skims over the water of the Bras d'Or lakes. The mist rises from the forest floor and sweeps over the mountain, but the peace and serenity is broken by a voice that is hurled back down the mountain, “Ye keep that bloody stuff off my mountain, ya hear!”

It's the voice of a spirit that's filled with Irish fury; it belongs to Patty Kelly, a crotchety old Irishman who claimed the mountain as his and his alone.

Kelly was a true mountain man living in isolation. Old Patty had good reason for keeping the curious out; it's said that he made his own whiskey and moonshine, and didn't want anyone discovering where his stills and booze were hidden.

Even in death, Kelly swore he'd return to guard his mountain against anyone attempting to trespass on or deface it. When old barley corn finally caught up with him, he passed away, but not his spirit—it stayed on the mountain to watch over what was his.

When workers on the new Trans-Canada highway reached the mountain, it was obvious to everyone that what was happening was being done in the name of progress—everyone that is except Patty Kelly. His antics frustrated workers, who couldn't figure out why their heavy equipment was constantly breaking down. Others complained of a strange old man who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, forcing their vehicles off the road. And when workers came on shift in the morning, their tools were strewn all over the place. In the end, some suggested the mountain was haunted. Ultimately, however, progress won out. The Trans-Canada Highway over the mountain was finally completed.

On the east side of the mountain toward Seal Island Bridge, there is a treacherous curve in the road—a favourite place for the Kelly ghost to suddenly jump out in front of cars, nearly sending driver and automobile over the mountain and into the lake.

One day, a driver and his passengers, who were on their way home from a Ceilidh, witnessed an old man in overalls and a plaid shirt doing a jig on top of the mountain. If it was Kelly, he must have been sampling his barley corn. One motorist even reported seeing a man in the middle of the highway who ran toward his car and passed right through it! These stories reached nearly every home on the island, including that of Charlie MacKinnon, who immortalized Patty Kelly and his mountain in a popular folk song.

So, an Irish fable? Maybe, yet when I drive over Kelly's Mountain, I feel like I'm being watched. Next time you're driving over it, keep your eyes open, because you never know who's watching, or running alongside your car—and keeping up!

The Hitchhiker Ghost

T
his story was told to me in a check-out at a local grocery store by a young woman who said it was one of her father's favourite ghost stories.

I later came across a similar story in Janet and Colin Bord's
Unexplained Mysteries
. Either version raises the hair on the back of your neck. If you're ready, lets put the Harley in gear and see what's over the next rise.

The night sky was an explosion of stars when the young biker said goodbye to his girlfriend and headed down the highway. He lived by a fast rule—never stop for a hitchhiker unless it was an emergency. So why did he stop for the young woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere? It's as if he didn't have a choice. He waited until she strapped on the extra helmet before heading back down the highway. Some miles later, he felt her release his waist. When he pulled over to check, the young woman was gone. However, the helmet was strapped securely to the seat.

When he arrived at the next town, he told several waitresses in a fast food restaurant what had happened. They listened politely, and when he had finished his story, they told him that what he had experienced was nothing new; that other drivers had had similar experiences.

One such driver was a middle-aged man, who stopped his car for a young woman one night, and after driving some fifteen minutes, turned to speak to her but she was gone! He reported what had happened to the police, and his story was reported in the press. That story was read by a man who claimed his girlfriend was run over and killed in the same location. When the driver of the car was shown a picture of the young woman, he confirmed she was the one he had given a ride to.

So, next time you and your Harley are out for a pleasant drive and you feel as if someone has just put their arms around your waist, well…have a nice ride!

The Roundhouse Ghost

T
his story is by way of Leo Evens of Sydney, Nova Scotia, a retired Sydney and Louisburg railroader, and somewhat amateur historian of the Whitney Pier area of Sydney. In my teens, I too worked for the now defunct S&L.

We're told you can never go back. You can, of course, but nothing remains the same. Your favourite corner store where you bought those juicy honeymoon candies when you were a child was probably torn down to make way for a strip mall. People grow up, leave the old neighbourhood or die. It all changes eventually.

The only things left of the Sydney & Louisburg Railway are memories and ghosts. The buildings are gone, nothing left but rusting rails and grass that has gone to seed.

It was in 1942 and the height of the war, when I was offered a job on the railroad. Most of the able-bodied men had gone into the service. At the time, my father was an engineer there, which is probably why I was hired.

I remember my first day on the job. I was nervous, and wanted very much to make a good impression. I even remember the foreman's name: Joe R. Macdonald. We would eventually become good friends. My shift was midnight until 8:00
A.M
. Joe R. explained to me and another worker what our duties were. Just before he left for home, he said, “Oh, by the way, ignore the ghost. He won't bother you.” We thought at the time he was joking. He wasn't.

From that moment on, and whenever I was at work, I kept looking over my shoulder and dreaded the times I was alone. If I was, indeed, alone.

There were many theories about why the ghost was haunting the place, but no one ever found out. As one railroader put it, “When you come face to face with a ghost, you just stand there with your mouth wide open. You want to scream, but nothing comes out.”

The ghost's presence was first noticed by two employees who were working the graveyard shift. They were standing just inside the large open doors of the roundhouse, watching a light snow coming down. Something moving in the cab of an engine caught their attention. Who could it be? they wondered. There were no other workers around, and the first crew wasn't scheduled until 6:00
A.M
. Something else bothered them. Why were there no footprints in the snow leading up to the cab of the engine? When they climbed aboard to investigate, the cab was empty.

The ghost's favourite place was near the workbench. He'd stand between engines observing the men working. That led some to believe he must have been a foreman.

One of the more frightening encounters happened when a callboy, or dispatcher, was alone in the office. While the boy was on the phone, the door opened and the ghost walked in. The callboy wanted to run, but he was to scared to move. He knew if he stood up his legs would collapse under him. All he could do was sit there and watch the spectre move around the office. Then as quickly as he came in, the ghost turned, stared at the startled young man for a moment, and left.

To this day, the legend of the roundhouse ghost persists, and although the railway and buildings are long gone, some, like Leo Evans, believe the ghost is still there, moving in the tall grass where the roundhouse once stood.

The Pipe-smoking Ghost

T
here are people who, when entering an empty building, feel an energy and instantly know they aren't alone. Gloria Burbidge found out through some mysterious clues that her two-hundred-year-old Brooklyn, Nova Scotia store is inhabited by something other than humans: objects are often not in their proper places, doors that were locked securely for the night are found open in the morning—and most mornings when Gloria arrives at the store, there's a heavy odour of pipe tobacco in the air.

Gloria and close members of her staff didn't speak of what was on their minds for quite sometime, but it soon became readily apparent to everyone that what was happening wasn't the work of a prankster, but a genuine ghost. So, with a country sense of humour, they christened their resident ghost Hector. Whenever something fell from a shelf, everyone would nod in agreement. Hector is about.

In an attempt to get to the bottom of this Maritime Mystery, Gloria called on the talents of two psychics, who both spent a considerable amount of time touching and smelling things on the first floor. But when Gloria took each psychic up to the attic on separate occasions, it was a different matter. The first psychic spend only a short time in the room and said the energy and force there was so heavy she had to leave. The second psychic didn't make it to the attic. She didn't even get to the top of the stairs before collapsing in an emotional state. From their reaction, it was obvious Hector was in the attic. The second psychic told the owner that she had a vision of someone being thrown down a flight of stairs. According to local history, there is a story that there was a tavern located upstairs in the store over a hundred years ago, where, the story goes, a man was killed when he was thrown down the stairs.

To this day, a beverage salesman will not go into the storage room alone. A couple of years ago he was checking supplies when he suddenly felt something strange near him. When he recovered from the shock of whatever it was, he told the staff that he hadn't seen anyone, but a pungent odour had overwhelmed him. He said he would quit his job before he'd go back there alone again.

Gloria recalls another incident when a young man planned on staying in the store overnight to raise money for a rock-a-thon. No sooner had he settled in for the night when a ghostly and shadowy figure crossed in front of him.